Seduced by the Enemy (Blaze, 41) (2 page)

Settle down?
she silently scoffed. Her work was her life. What was there to settle down? She didn't own a cat, or even so much as a goldfish. About the only wild oats she'd ever sown were the ones she sprinkled with salt and a little butter in her cereal bowl each morning.

It hadn't always been that way, she mused. Once upon a time, she had had a great love affair. One man had stolen into her heart, into her soul, but it had ended badly, as great affairs often do. Except most didn't end with one of them turning the other over to law enforcement.

“You're lucky, Peyton. Most people find a great love only once,” Kellie said, as if reading her mind. “You've had it twice.”

Peyton pulled her hand free, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “Jared was a mistake. Leland and I are much more suited to each other.”

Kellie frowned down at her. “But you're in love with him, right? I mean, he's obviously in love with you. Two carats' worth.”

“I love Leland, yes. He's gentle and kind, and he appreciates me the way I am. He isn't always trying to change me, to get me to loosen up and live life on the edge. Leland is…comfortable, and that's something I need in my life.”

“Comfortable, or safe?” Kellie challenged.

“Is there a difference?”

Kellie walked to the window overlooking the busy street ten floors below, and stared out into the darkness for a moment. “Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, keeping her back to Peyton.

“Not really, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me, anyway.”

Kellie turned to face her, a frown marring her delicate, petite features. “Leland's safe, Peyton. He doesn't make you feel too much. Not like…well, not like Jared.”

Peyton let out a slow breath. She'd been thinking about Jared, and now Kellie was reminding her of what she'd tried for three long years to forget but could never quite completely manage to do.

Her friend knew how difficult it had been for her when she'd made the phone call to turn Jared over to the bureau. But he'd gotten away, knowing she was the one to betray him. She hadn't wanted to believe him capable of a brutal double murder or of stealing two million dollars, but the agents who'd come to see her had shown her the evidence against him. As an attorney for the United States, reviewing evidence and building a case out of that evidence was her job—a job she did damn well, if her recent promotion was any indication. And she'd seen more than enough to know there was little remaining doubt of Jared's guilt.
He'd claimed he'd been framed, but what she'd seen with her own eyes told another story. The story of Special Agent Jared Romine, one of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's best turned bad.

The truth was indeed damning. Jared's fingerprints had been all over the crime scene. From everything she'd been shown, the evidence not only pointed solely at Jared as the shooter, but as the one who'd taken the two million in cash from Senator Martin Phipps's office, as well. She still hadn't understood why the senator had had that kind of money lying around, and she probably never would know. Still, while her mind understood that everything pointed to Jared as the guilty party, her heart had taken a whole lot longer wrapping itself around the fact that he'd actually killed his partner, Jack Dysert, and the senator's top aide, Roland Santiago. Two million bucks was a hell of a motivator, so maybe she had her answer, after all.

She looked at the solemn expression on Kellie's face, at the compassion and understanding shining in her eyes. Kellie never judged. She only offered support and comfort. As far as friends went, she was easily Peyton's closest and dearest.

Peyton stood. “I won't deny it. On a certain level, yes, Leland does make me feel safe.” She stuffed the Howell motion back into the file before turning off her laptop, wishing she could shut down thoughts of Jared just as easily. “And yeah, I guess you could say
he
is safe, too. He's got a solid career ahead of him. We have the same goals. We're well suited. There's nothing wrong with that, Kel. Not if it's what I want.”

Kellie let out a long breath, her gaze filling with
frustration. “What about passion? I mean, okay, I like Leland. He's a nice enough guy and he obviously adores you, but come on, Peyton. The guy just screams beige.”

Peyton frowned. “Beige?”

“Yeah. Beige. You know, you're making love with the guy and he's feeling a little adventurous so he lets you be on top. But he's not looking at you, he's staring at the ceiling, and instead of saying something wicked and naughty that'll excite you more, he says, ‘I think we should paint the ceiling beige.'”

Peyton couldn't help herself; she laughed. “Okay, so Leland is a little conservative. But for the record, Ms. Nicols, there's nothing wrong with beige. Beige is a nice, neutral color. It goes with just about everything.”

“Beige is
boring,
” Kellie countered. “I just don't want you to settle for beige and then find out later you really wanted shocking blue or hot and sexy red.”

Her days of hot and sexy red were over. Peyton knew that, and embraced the staid, stable life she'd created for herself. She'd betrayed hot and sexy red and had made up her mind to opt for safe, secure and settled. The betrayal held a wealth of regret, but she'd had no other choice. If she thought about it, she was glad she'd finally made the decision to marry Leland, even if it had taken her two months to accept his proposal. She'd made the right choice. Wasn't that what mattered in the long run? That'd she'd made the choice that was right for her?

Peyton slid her laptop into her briefcase, then considered adding the Howell file. Leland was away for the weekend at a judges conference, and chances were
all she'd do tonight was more research, anyway, so she moved the file to the side of her desk. Since she'd be in the office tomorrow morning, there was no sense dragging it home with her.

She snapped her briefcase closed. “Hot and sexy red is you, Kel. Not me.”

Kellie planted her hands on her slender hips. “When I first met you, you could be classified as hot and sexy red.” She held up her hand to stop the argument hovering on Peyton's lips. “I know, I know. That's the past. Beige is safe. Boring, but safe. Just make sure Leland is what you really want, okay?”

Peyton set the briefcase on her chair to shrug into her navy blazer. “It is,” she said, adjusting the collar. “
He
is, okay?”

Kellie let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay,” she said, but her eyes told another story, and Peyton didn't want to look close enough to read the words. She didn't need to. She had them memorized, and knew the story hadn't equaled the stuff fairy tales were made of, but a cold, hard reality with a different ending, one filled with betrayal and heartache. A tale that told the story of a man and a woman who'd been made for each other, until one of them had taken a path the other could never follow.

“Come on,” Peyton said, leading the way out of her office. “I'll walk you out.”

Kellie sat down at her desk just outside Peyton's office and pulled the research notes she'd typed from the printer. “You go on ahead. I'm staying in the city this weekend, so I'm going to finish these Points and Authorities before I leave. I get to meet dear old mom for a late dinner, and then it's back to her place for a
girls' weekend,” she said, then shuddered dramatically. “I told you my life was pathetic.”

“At least you have a family who cares about you,” Peyton said, shifting her briefcase to her other hand.

“Yeah, too much. My weekend will consist of hearing ad nauseam what a perfect life my older sister, Monica, has with her perfect husband, perfect children and perfect house. Even her precision trained German shepherd is perfect. Oh yeah, and when am I going to find the perfect man, yada, yada, yada. Still sound like loads of fun?”

Peyton laughed and pulled her keys from her purse. “You know you love it. Have fun,” she said, then started toward the exit. “I'll see you Monday after the Howell hearing.”

Since there were few people left in the building so late on a Friday night, it was no wonder the parking garage was practically deserted when she stepped off the elevator. Gripping her briefcase in her left hand, she positioned her keys in her right as a paltry weapon against any would-be mugger. She crossed the parking garage, listening for sounds other than the click of her own sensible navy pumps against the concrete.

The light nearest her car was still burned out, deepening the shadows as she approached her Ford Taurus. The light had been out since Monday. She made a mental note to have Kellie advise the building superintendent of the problem again. It really wasn't safe to be waltzing through the parking garage at night, but doing so without adequate lighting was just plain stupid.

Having no other choice, she approached her car using a great deal of caution. She opened the trunk and
placed her briefcase inside, then, after a cursory glance around the area, slammed the trunk closed and pressed the button on her remote to unlock the door. Out of habit, she looked through the rear driver's side window, but it was an exercise in futility, since the interior lamp in the car had obviously chosen to burn out, as well. What was it with her and lightbulbs lately?

She slipped into the car, slid the key into the ignition and turned it over before reaching up to pull the seat belt in place. Her hand stilled in midair and a scream lodged in her throat when a large, callused hand covered her mouth. Then something hard and round was pressed against the base of her skull.

“H
ELLO
, P
EYTON
.”

She'd recognize that voice anywhere. Deep, and as smooth as the highest quality brandy. Even though she detected a hardness in his tone she didn't remember, there was no mistaking it was him.

Jared.

He'd come back. For her? For revenge? Considering she'd turned him in once, coupled with the fact that he was holding a gun to the back of her head, she wasn't about to make any snap decisions about his motivation for returning.

She inhaled slowly and fought to exhale evenly in an effort to still the rapid cadence of her heart. Fear-induced panic would do her no good and would have her thoughts scattering like autumn leaves dancing in a wind storm. Focus and concentration had to be her sole objectives if she had any hope of escaping him, and maybe even learning what he wanted from her and why he'd come back.

“Let's just take things slow and easy,” he said, his voice low, as if he was talking to her over a candlelight dinner and not holding her hostage in her own car. “No one needs to get hurt.”

Not getting hurt was just fine by her. Slow and easy would give her time to think, to take advantage of the
first opportunity to escape and call the authorities. He wasn't the same man she'd once loved, and she desperately needed to remember that, instead of exhuming memories better left buried. The man holding her captive was the enemy, and dangerous. A fugitive who'd murdered his partner and the top aide to a prominent United States senator, and made off with two million dollars like it was some grand prize for his horrendous crime. Since she was the one who'd attempted to hand him over to the feds on a silver platter, she had a right to be fearful and cautious.

She remained perfectly still, concentrated on breathing evenly, and slowly opened her eyes, only to peer into the shadowed darkness of the deserted parking garage.

“Listen carefully, Peyton.” He reminded her exactly who was in charge by adding the slightest amount of pressure with the weapon he held on her.

As if she needed reminding.

“Put your hands on the steering wheel.”

In the rearview mirror, she sought him out, but the darkness inside the vehicle prevented her from discerning anything more than the reflection of his silhouette. She wanted,
needed
to see his eyes. For as long as they'd been together, she'd always been able to read him by the look in his eyes. It'd been the only way she'd known when he was upset, frustrated, even angry. She'd also known the love he'd once felt for her was as real as it got.

And when she'd betrayed him, she'd known how deeply she'd hurt him.

Those days were long gone. But that knowledge didn't stop her need to look into his dark emerald eyes
now when it was most important, when one glance would tell her whether or not she was in real danger. The blasted darkness prevented her from searching for the truth.

He kept his hand over her mouth so she couldn't scream bloody murder. Not that anyone would hear her this time of night in the deserted parking garage, but just the same, he obviously wasn't about to take any chances.

Her eyes darted to the steering wheel, then back to the rearview mirror. “Forget it, Peyton.” The silky tone of his voice stirred memories she couldn't afford to think about now.

How he could see so clearly when she could barely make out the shape of his head was beyond her.

“I disconnected the horn.” He added a little more pressure with the weapon. “Hands, sweetheart. Steering wheel.” He nudged again. “Now.”

Sudden anger reared up inside her, white-hot and fiery, shoving aside her earlier fear and uncertainty. She did as he ordered, then tried to twist her head free of his grasp. A useless endeavor. He held her head firmly against the headrest and what she was certain was the nose of a pistol. Frustration nipped at her when she couldn't even open her mouth to bite his hand.

“Take it easy, sweetheart. I'm not here to hurt you, but to save you.”

Save me? From whom?
she wanted to rail at him.
Or what?

“This car has automatic locks, right?” he asked her, instead of answering the question she couldn't voice.

She nodded her head as much as his tight hold would allow.

“We're gonna do this slow and easy,” he repeated. “I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to, if it'll keep you safe. Do you understand that, Peyton?”

He waited, so she nodded again.

“Good. I'll explain everything later, but right now, I want you to reach over and engage the locks.”

None of what he was telling her made sense. Keep her safe? As far as she could tell, he posed the only danger. Didn't he realize that after what he'd done, he could end up being shot on sight? He was a wanted man, for crying out loud.

Once she hit the button and the locks clicked, he finally removed the pressure from the weapon he held on her. She heard the rustle of fabric and assumed he'd stuffed the gun into his pocket.

Breathing suddenly became a whole lot easier.

“I'm going to remove my hand. Are you going to scream?”

She shook her head. No one would hear her, anyway. She seriously doubted the aging guard could hear her if he was standing directly in front of her. Still, she had to do something. Was she really supposed to believe she was the one in danger, when it was his face on a wanted poster?

With his hand still clamped over her mouth, he reached over and snagged her purse off the seat, dropping it on the floorboard beside him.

“I'm going to remove my hand. Scream, and who knows what might happen. I'm feeling a little edgy right now, so I wouldn't make any fast moves if I were you. You understand me, sweetheart?”

At her nod, he added, “Okay. Ease over to the passenger seat.”

As slowly as he'd ordered her to follow his instructions, he removed his hand. She sucked a large gulp of air into her lungs. “What do you think you're doing?” she snapped at him, ignoring his demands. “Why are you here?”

“Now that's a hell of a greeting for someone you haven't seen in three years,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Move over.”

Remaining behind the wheel, she shifted in the seat so she could get a good look at him. Shock coursed through her at the sight. Although vibrantly alive, and way too virile for her not to notice, he'd aged. A lot more than three years would warrant if he hadn't been hiding from the authorities, and doing only God knew what to stay alive and hidden. Thanks to the lights on the dash, she could just make out haggard lines of fatigue bracketing his eyes and the slight gray sprinkled along his temples. He was only two years older than her thirty-one years, but he looked so much older, and tired, as if he hadn't had a good night's rest in weeks, maybe even months.

Three years,
her conscience reminded her.
Three long, no doubt hellish, years.

Against her better judgment, compassion nipped at her. She desperately wanted to feel nothing toward him, but deep down she knew she'd have an easier time asking for the moon to be personally delivered to her doorstep with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it. Jared had been such an important part of her life. He'd
been
her life, or so she'd thought once upon a time. Despite her need to remain detached, the
trace of fear she detected in his gaze gave her heart a sharp tug. The Jared she'd known, the Jared she'd once loved with all her heart, had never been afraid of anything. That his eyes held even a hint of that emotion now worried her, even more so than the determination she sensed there, as well.

“You're a fugitive, Jared,” she said, lowering her voice. “As an officer of the court, it's my duty to—”

“Save me your legal duty bullshit, Peyton,” he said with an unmistakable hardness in his tone. “I've heard it before. Remember? Now move it over like I told you to, real slow.”

She had to find a way to get through to him. Certainly he realized the danger of even being in the D.C. area. If he was found, they'd kill him. She knew that. She'd been involved with Jared long enough to know feds didn't take too kindly to their own going south, much less killing a fellow agent in the line of duty.

“They're looking for you, Jared. They're
always
looking for you.”

“Tell me something new,” he said impatiently. “Now move it.”

She twisted around and acted before she could think about the possible consequences. She slammed the car into reverse and stepped hard on the gas. The car shot backward, tires squealing on the smooth concrete. Jared swore vividly and scrambled to keep upright. She jerked the car to a hard stop, but before she could shift into Drive, he reached over the seat and killed the engine. As he tried to remove the keys, she fought him, tugging unsuccessfully on his hands, pulling on the sleeve of his lightweight jacket. He yanked the
keys from the ignition and tossed them on the floor at her feet. She knew then the battle was lost.

Not ready to give up the fight completely, she made one last-ditch effort and reached for the door, opened it, but he swore again and grabbed a handful of her hair. The butterfly clip holding it in place flew to God knew where an instant before her feet hit the pavement.
Dammit!

For a few moments, the only sound inside the car was their ragged breathing. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the D.C. traffic. “That's the wrong way, sweetheart,” he said, his mouth dangerously close to her ear. His warm breath fanned her flushed skin and sent a shiver traveling down her spine. “Close the door, Peyton.”

Temporarily out of viable escape options, she reluctantly did as he ordered. She tried to pull away from him, away from that mouth close enough to brush against her skin, but he held on tight.

“Look, if it's the car you want,” she said, struggling to calm herself, “just let me get my briefcase and you can have it.”

“So you can run to the nearest phone and report it stolen? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that,” she told him. She was no longer his sweetheart, babe or any of the other silly endearments he'd used during their affair. “What do you want?”

“Dammit, I'm trying to protect you, Peyton.”

“Then you should have stayed away.”

“I couldn't. This is what they wanted.”

“What who wanted? You're talking in circles.”

“Look, I'll explain later. Right now we need to get out of here. They could be watching us even now.”

“Who, Jared?” She wanted to understand, but without an explanation, she was reduced to guessing games. “Who could be watching? The bureau? They wouldn't be watching, they'd be surrounding the car with guns drawn like a bunch of liquored-up farmers on a turkey shoot. And guess who the turkey is?”

He let out a frustrated breath. “Let's take this back to the beginning, okay? Move over to the passenger seat.”

“I'm not moving anywhere until you explain what's going on.”

“I told you—I'll explain later.” The words were sharp and clipped. “Move it, Peyton. Now!”

With nothing left to do but follow his orders, she eased over to the passenger seat. He kept her hair wrapped around his hand until he moved first one, then the other leg over the seat and slid behind the wheel. He adjusted the seat to fit his long, powerful legs, then adjusted the mirror and double-checked the locks. He even made sure the window lock was engaged before he scooped up the keys and started the car. With his foot on the brake and his hand on the gearshift, he turned to look at her. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Oh, really?” Although his gaze held sincerity, she still balked. She was effectively his captive. He was the one in control, the one calling the shots, and she hated it almost as much as she hated the changes in him. “Then what do you call that gun you held to my head? A greeting card?”

He had the audacity to offer her a sheepish grin as
he reached into his pocket. When he opened his hand, she stared in disbelief at the round, black plastic object lying across his calloused palm. “A lighter? You mean to tell me you scared me half to death with a disposable lighter?”

He slipped the car into Drive and headed toward the exit. “It worked, didn't it?” He stuffed the lighter back into his pocket and pulled out something else.

She looked down at his hand. “I suppose you're going to tell me you're responsible for the light being out in the parking garage, too,” she said, taking the small lightbulb from his palm to return it to the overhead lamp in the car.

When he just grinned at her again, she let out a disgusted sigh, then reached behind her to pull the seat belt into place. Being kidnapped was one thing, but that didn't mean she had to compound stupidity by riding around unprotected. “Will you at least tell me where we're going?”

“Somewhere that's safe.” He glanced quickly in her direction. “At least for now.”

“And then you'll let me know what this is all about?”

“Yeah, Peyton. I'll tell you. But I guarantee you're not going to like it.”

 

H
E LOVED HIS JOB
. He was powerful, connected and damn good at what he did. Invitations to dinner parties in the homes of Washington's movers and shakers always came to him. The other senatorial aides on the hill called on him for advice and counsel. Lobbyists vied for his attention and were grateful when he gave it to them. Visits to the White House were a common
part of his job, and the rush of adrenaline he felt stepping into the hallowed halls of the West Wing, of having the ear of those closest to the president, never failed to lift him a little higher in his own self-esteem. He wasn't feared, but he was deeply respected, and respect meant everything to a man who'd crawled out of a dirt-poor childhood, one small step ahead of being trailer trash.